I do not own anything, except my own storyline and OC's, Just FYI.
Today was exciting! The Quidditch World Cup, which Ronald and Draco had been raving about for ages was finally upon them. Viktor Krum was a world wide celebrity, even Harry was a bit of a fan after watching a few games, though severely disappointed by his lackluster team. The game would likely be the answer as to whether it was the Team or the Seeker that truly made them win, as the Irish excelled where the Bulgarians failed, with vice versa being true.
The morning is proving quite boring, Harry mused as he sat there, thinking. As it had been a week since the meeting with the figure, he'd pondered over the latest revelations. After his reveal, the meeting had ended and he'd been sent home. With no idea when the next would come, he could only speculate since there was no one to question. Sirius would ask where he found the information, if the man even knew, Dumbledore would pry it from his mind, even if that would end painfully, and there was no one else of the necessary age or status he could ask, since the Malfoy's were far too young a family, Tom didn't have the memories of his older self and Trip 's father had died before the boy had reached the age he would have been told.
His Grandfather proved to be quite ignorant on the subject, choosing to focus on dueling, much like himself, rather than history. The Greengrasses might know something, but he was unwilling to be in a room alone with them, much less ask them such an important question. So for now, it would just be an unanswered query until either his next meeting or some other opportunity to confirm it.
Ronald finally stomped down to join them, where Sirius and Mrs. Weasley were sitting, eating some bacon and eggs. Harry himself had simply chosen some toast to nibble on as he read the Prophet. He'd ordered the one that arrived in Poland, seeing as Britain's outlet had turned into no more than a gossip rag. Putting it down, he decided to observe the room. After all, the wards may be strong, but that didn't mean no threat could get in.
The lighting was quite dreary, with only one fixture whose light bulb flickered at least once a day, bathing the area in a yellow glow. The tiles on the wall had dozens of cracks, and at one point he thought he had seen an eye staring back at him. The floor was made of the same, and in addition to the light presented a once lavish, pearly white kitchen into a dank space that seemed on the verge of collapse. Every room seemed to match this description, which made the fact this was once a Black Manor all the more depressing.
Arcturus's no doubt would be in far better condition, without the windows that were spider-webbed, cobwebs growing in every corner, doxies behind every curtain and Kreacher not being a little bastard to everyone but him and Sirius, the latter solely because Harry ordered him not to. Thankfully, being a Pure-Blood mannered Half-Blood from several ancient families satiated the elf's need for a powerful master, and at the very least respected Harry, Sirius as his Godfather being allowed the same. It helped that if explained right, he could technically get away with calling himself a Pure-blood.
The stove was the only respectable looking appliance, cleaned over and over by the Weasley Matriarch to busy herself and ensure they didn't all die from poison when they ate. Or at the very least, Ronald could get his midnight snack without waking the entire house. How the boy spent any time actually talking was a miracle. Then again, his manners did leave something to be desired.
Soon, they would be heading to the Burrow, where the Weasley's Manor had once stood, instead falling into disarray after several wars where they had been quite radical. 90% of it's once large walls had been lost, and he felt a tinge of sorrow that such an ancient building had been lost just because of some poor decisions. Yet, nobody was perfect, perhaps he could even help them repair it. All it needed was a bit of family magic along with a powerful wizard to perform the right spell. Honestly, it was surprising Dumbledore hadn't helped them.
Once everyone was seated, Arthur began- a stout, short man was balding with the normal red hair that plagued the family, revealing their native Irish heritage, along with the fact the man had pulled him aside to explain it after he had revealed his status as technical King of Ireland to the man. As Lord Weasley, Harry had thought Arthur could provide some advice, though as he was basically ruled over by his wife, the man could offer nothing. His excuse had been his father was lazy.
Moving to the floo, he quickly grabbed some powder and called out for 'The Burrow!' and stepped out, stumbling head over arse as the floo, per usual, hated him. He'd only managed a perfect landing a few times, and was constantly humbled when someone else did it perfectly. Arthur had apparently mastered it, which was honestly really disappointing. Thankfully, Sirius had relayed to the boy that both his parents had been just as terrible, and his Grandfather admitted in private that Dorea had never been able to grasp how to do so, whispering as if the woman could hear him.
Standing up, he looked around. It had an aura of coziness, with a constant hum of magic that was apparently keeping the house up, with what he'd learned from Mr Weasley. The many generations living here had strengthened it to a level few had ever seen, as the Weasley's had been one of the oldest and most prominent families in Magical Britain. But they had chosen a peaceful life free of politics, something that appeared genetic, with the exception of Ronald and Ginevra.
Every couch in the room was frayed, yet clearly strong and had been repaired many times over, if his detection were right. The walls were an amazing Hickory, polished to a level he hadn't thought possible, and only seen in one other object. An unconscious shiver flew through him. Moving on and out the Living area, he walked to the dining room, with a clock that held every Weasley face pointed towards a certain state of health, each one signaled 'At Home.' The table was long, and a bit farther was a door to the kitchen, with dishes stacked up neatly, not a speck of dirt present.
Sitting in a chair, he glanced up the steps to the other rooms as everybody else took a seat. They would be protkeying to the Cup, and he idly toyed with the rope. Everybody glanced his way but began discussing what would happen, the Weasley twins spot on with his prediction, however disappointing it would be. Tuning them out, he thought of his pets, and how they were.
Each one was staying at Potter manor, watched over by the elves until Hogwarts began again and he could take them. Patrick, his Bowtruckle had been too stubborn, and he decided in the end it just wasn't worth it. Pat and Stew got up to a lot of trouble though, and he was really considering just leaving the Tree in a random nest. But each time the little cretin used his puppy-eyes, it melted him. Damn the little bastard!
But he thought back to Hedwig, and gave a little smile. He suspected both she and Gracie had known Erebus was actually Sirius, but let him believe the dog was just that-a dog. He supposed it wasn't the worst thing they could have done, Phoenix were known for their 'magical' judge of character, and Dragons could just incinerate anyone who crossed them. While he didn't enjoy secrets being held from him, in the end he supposed it was for the best.
Nyx was fine and curled around his feet, though he quickly shooed her off. The Kneazle, which was basically a cat who was smarter and had a lion's tail, preferred to stay with him rather than at the manor. He certainly didn't complain, though the cat hair on his chest when he woke up was quickly growing annoying. Her jet black coat was rare amongst Kneazles, but he just thought it made her a bit more unique, to which she seemed to agree.
The hike to the apparent portkey, a dirty old boot, was a surprising trek. Rocks kept tripping him up, with long grass present everywhere that was a wonderful green, though annoying when knots formed that caught his foot. They met Cedric Diggory and his father, Amos, at the location. Cedric appeared a pleasant boy who had a handsome face, and he recalled the Seventh Year was the Hufflepuff Seeker, thus allowing them to foster a good friendship and rivalry. Deciding to walk with him and get to know the boy some more as they waited for the activation, he quickly began.
'So, Cedric, eh? How are you doing?' The Hufflepuff was surprised, but quickly gained his footing.
'I'm good, how's your summer been? I heard you live with Muggles.' Grumbling, Harry responded.
'Yes, and they are not the pleasant sort. But, they are what is left of my family. So I stay there because of some protections. Honestly, between you and me though, If my Cousin did not live there, I would have left ages ago. How are your grades?' Cedric was puzzled by the change of subject, but took it in stride.
'I'm first in my year, and hoping I manage at least eight NEWTS, though that might be a bit generous. After that, I'm hoping for a Transfiguration Mastery.' Harry's eyes widened. It wasn't often someone sought a mastery, especially a Pureblood, since there were so many options available that few ever wanted to become teachers. Dumbledore had hired Lupin and Goldihart for a reason, and it certainly wasn't because there were lines of people looking to sign up for the job.
'That is quite some ambition there. Good thing you are in the house for the hard-working, eh?' Cedric laughed.
'Yeah, what about you? I'm sure you have some goals for the future?'
'Well, I am a bit young to really be thinking about that, but I suppose some have appeal. Auror, Wand-making sounds fascinating though I do not think Ollivander takes apprentices outside of his family, Spell Creation is dangerous but quite rewarding, and Magizoology is of particular interest to me.' His friend nodded along.
'Well, first, you are family to Ollivander. I'm his great-great-grandnephew on my mum's side, and my great-grandaunt married a Potter, pretty sure it was your great-grandfather, but I'd have to make sure. Hold on a moment.' The man pulled out a spare piece of parchment that he dropped a bit of blood on, asking Harry to do the same, to reveal a family tree that showed their connections.
'Yeah, see? Right there, Mary Diggory to Henry Potter, and farther up here is Marty Ollivander, Garrick's father. So I believe that makes us Third Cousins, though I'm not totally certain.'
'Ok, now just one question, why do you have that with you?' Harry was stumped why someone would carry a family tree in their pocket.
'Oh, this is just a spare piece of parchment, magical blood has special properties so that when it interacts with the paper, it can do a whole bunch of things. I just commanded it to show a family tree, the ones that connect our families. It's the biggest reason we don't use the paper muggles have, because it's thicker and has many, many more magical qualities than theirs.'
'Oh… That is cool, thanks Cedric, or should I say, cousin.'
They walked along in comfortable silence all the way up to the hill, where stood an old, moldy boot. The smell that came off it made him turn his nose, even Ronald, whose habit of not showering left many of those around him with the urge to puke at times, was turned away. Mr Weasley and Mr Diggory seemed unaffected, though.
'Alright everyone, touch a finger to the shoe. Yes, I know it does reek, but we all have to.'
'Ugh, This stinks even more than the chamber.' Those nearby looked at him oddly but waved it off as he used his middle finger to give it the slightest poke, and Mr Weasley began a countdown.
'Three… Two… One…' As he finished, there was a sudden jerk in his stomach, like a fishing hook behind his navel that tugged him along. Even with his finger touching it, that one connection felt unbreakable, as they passed locations in a swirling cloud of blue. When it stopped, most were thrown away, but Harry, using a weak wandless levitation charm, managed to prevent complete collapse into a tangle of limbs. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric seemed to walk on pure air as they arrived. Hermione, who Harry just noticed, was beet red as she came out of the mass and saw him.
Catching up to her, he was quick to ask what was wrong. 'Hermione, what happened? You look like Ronald's hair.'
'My, uh… My skirt flipped.' She mumbled this as she shied away and he stood there, stunned. That seemed like a scary prospect. He certainly knew he wouldn't want anyone looking at his… uh, best move on.
Now with burning cheeks, he moved on, looking out across a field of tents in varying colours, particularly red, black, green or gold. While he was a fan of Krum, who he'd read about in the few books he had checked out on seeker moves, The Irish were more local, and as a result the Britain natives who didn't support Krum were with Ireland. It seemed quite a few were split.
'Yeah! Let's go see Krum!' Ronald, who had somehow located a Bulagarian-coloured hat, appeared at his side cheering. Thankfully, Mr Weasley put a stop to that.
'Hold on, we've got to check in and find our tent. Boys, go take the younger teens to find their friends, you've got five galleons each for a stipend. Amos and I will get it set up. Meet us here in ten minutes, understood?; The Twins, Percy, and Cedric all nodded as the adults moved on.
'Everyone, come on, the marketplace is over there!' Fred pointed to a large area filled with stands and shops, as Ronald sprinted over carrying his five coins. Harry quickly fished out twenty, giving Hermione ten. She would want to bring some souvenirs for her parents.
Moving over to the first one, he bought a couple ice creams, then purchased a scarf in Irish colours, a Krum set of Omnioculars, then for the hell of it got a couple books, one on Krum and his rise to fame for Ronald, one for Draco on Chaser moves, which he suspected the boy would be good at if his Ego could handle being out of the spotlight, two for Trip and Tom each about Veela culture and Quidditch, with one finally for Hermione about Intelligent Witches and Their Contributions to Society. Spotting a gold necklace at a fair price, he quickly snagged it, slipping the chain into his pocket for Christmas. Hopefully Daphne would appreciate it.
The others had bought some food, and after grabbing some himself he sat down. The conversation was nice and peaceful, if not a bit dull. By the time the day ended, he was feeling a bit drowsy. Thankfully, the next event would bring out a lot of adrenalin.
Walking up the steps to the Top Box with everyone up there, Harry grimaced a bit. Draco had told him that his Father and Mother would be there as well. Their boy may be nice now, but he remembered how the Slytherin had been at first. The Ravenclaw did NOT want to meet the people who could raise someone like that. But perhaps, if he had the capacity to change as dramatically as he did, one of them was alright. Possibly.
After a while they finally made it up, and a very loud groan escaped his lips as he spotted the Minister. Fudge was… to say the least… a brown-noser. A disgusting wretch of a wizard who represented the worst of them all. At least Voldemort was powerful, and Lucius had real strength to back up his claims. Fudge was practically Vernon in a Politicians guise. Yet at least his Uncle was clever enough to realise when others were manipulating him, this man's nickname was Lucius's Puppet, and it was like he didn't even hear it. If he didn't know about the defences set in place, he'd have suspected the man under Imperius.
'Ahhh, Mr Potter, how are you?' His brown suit did not suit him, with a green cap atop his head doomed to carry a hairless chin, black gloves and green boots. Strangely, a small cut was present across his cheek, and Harry immediately noted this man, while useless, had at least some strength to him. The cut had not been healed instantly, suggesting a dark curse. Curious.
The glass was not viable, even going back was blocked by the congregation of people. The only real way out was blasting a hole in the roof, which would show off too much power too quickly. Whoever had designed these had not planned for an attack. Disappointing.
'I'm quite well, Minister. Excited for the game. Who do you expect to win?' Powerful allies were powerful allies, no matter how distasteful.
'Why the Irish, of course! Truly strong, and regional. I believe the locals will be in their favour. Well, with the exception of that boy.' He looked pointedly at Ronald, and Harry glanced back. His friend was wearing a large red and black hat, a large Krum jersey and a pair of omnioculars in the Bulgarian colours.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow but moved on to the newest arrivals, the Malfoys. Greeting Draco with a firm handshake, he gave the same to Lucius and kissed the back of Narcissa's hand. Most Purebloods now either simply bowed or did nothing, at least to equals or those below them. But by displaying an extra hand of extravagance, Harry had essentially announced his intentions as Lord. The subtle show of his rings helped as well. Honestly, it was Lucius who should be bowing to him, but in the presence of the Minister who was, ironically, against many Traditions, despite those used being in place solely to protect culture and History without copying Muggles or hindering Wizards.
When Narcissa raised an eyebrow at his actions, he knew they would be taken into consideration. The parents would encourage their child to befriend him, as had happened several times. Hannah Abbott and Cho Chang had been denied betrothals, He'd rejected Zacharias Smith and Blaise Zabini's offers of alliance. He already had those he inherited(Bones, Longbottom, Dashwood, Rushworth, Greengrass, Lovegood, and Dumbledore), along with those he'd made thus far(Weasley, Black via his Godfather, Fawley, and Ollivander). That was rough to nearly having complete control over the Wizengamot, but thanks to the Old Law he couldn't have any sort of complete control, his seats would be downsized in power until he divided them amongst his children, and some matters would be designed for specific types of houses.
Unfortunately for them, it would not work out the way they hoped, As he had Sirius, who'd claimed his spot on the Wizengamot over the summer, working on protecting Draco from any of the nastier influences of his life with the Malfoy Elder. Whether or not it would work depended entirely on Draco and his choices.
When he turned back to the game, it had already started. The mascots of both teams, the Bulgarians cheerleaders(Why were all the men looking at them strangely?), and the Irish leprechauns were in a fierce duel as their teams fought. It appeared the apparent Fire-throwing beak-faced females of the red and black team were winning.
While The idea of watching a sports game might be appealing to some, and especially one who was Muggle-raised, inevitably it lost its shine and simply grew boring. Ron loved them, but he soon tore his eyes from the excitement of the chasers and just lazily watched Krum do his tricks in the same energy level as he.
It should be noted the Omnioculars were mostly for disguise, as his Hawk sight allowed him to spot them without assistance. But soon enough he was even tired of that, as he looked over his shoulder, and saw everybody had their eye on the game. Missing the drool coming from the males as they watched the field, he snuck away. Camping out on a nearby bleacher, he sat down and pulled out his moleskine pouch gifted by Remus, and found what he was looking for.
Veela and their Culture.
Veela are fierce female creatures who seek a lifelong mate, and is the term used to refer to both species. Their male equivalent is the Libidine, though there are small portions of their population that branch off the mainland(Carnasia) into the Wizarding People, seeking strong mates to bring back to the Capital. In some rare cases, however, they may remain in our world. It is said the Poterimus line has Libidine blood in them, and Bones have Veela, giving credence to the manifestation of beauty famed in their Clans, though it is as of yet unproven.
They have a natural allure that attracts most men, though there are some rare ones that prove immune, yet typically they are associated to have some ancestor of the species belonging to the opposite gender. To clarify, lest you have a Libidine ancestor, you will not be immune to a Veela. Lest you have a Veela ancestor, you will not be immune to a Libidine. There are no magical abilities that give you any other protections, and typically this immunity is the only thing to manifest in a Wizard or Witch of either Descent.
But be warned, as most Veela and Libidine take it as a sign of eligibility, and will stop at nothing to take them as a mate. As such, protections must be put in place if Veela, or their immediate children, should be placed within 100 meters of a Libidine descendant, or vice-versa. Otherwise it will result in chaos and possible non-consensual procreation, even death, if the target is not an experienced witch or wizard.
Harry sucked in a breath. This was not good. He did not trust anyone in the Ministry to put in proper protections, even Dumbledore did not have that foresight. After all, it was supposed to merely be rumours that there were any with Veela blood in them. But then how did the people in this book get their data? So he ran to the Weasley tent, quickly planning out the letter he was going to write. But he didn't even get halfway when he caught sight of something horrible. A Muggle family was being tortured by the edges of the tent by masked people. Considering the excitement that would be rolling off the crowd when the game ended, and the clear lack of stealth these group put in motion, he gave it a few hours before complete chaos descended upon the camp.
Suddenly, he came up with an idea. He'd been told over and over he was supposed to be this all-powerful character, and Flitwick told him he was his most accomplished duelist. Mabe he could take them on, prevent all the destruction, terror and murder they would cause.
With mind set on saving the family and preventing Death from having his day, he began stalking over to the others, gripping his wand tightly in hand. Taking off his glasses, he channeled all his Magic into his arm, and like a Tidal Wave he launched it at his opponents. He used his strongest stunner, which Dumbledore had always taught him to use first, and a large ball of sparkling red was released, hitting the Masked People.
It didn't even faze them.
Now sweating slightly, he drew his wand up and swirled it in a circle around him, allowing a wallf of fire to encircle him as he crouched down, staring at his foes who had finally seen him. They took one glance, and abandoned the family to run over, quickly launching attacks. Drawing up his shield, Harry blocked every single one while preparing to launch a bone-breaker.
But it was deflected.
'Waa..?' His circle was jumped over by one of the figures, who ripped off their mask and hood to reveal Bellatrix Lestrange, from the newspapers which he had searched looking for possible information on what the event Percy Weasley had talked about when he visited the Burrow at one point. While he hadn't found anything, he had discovered many stories about Death Eaters,
The woman cackled, and spoke in an insane baby voice. 'So Hawwy Powwer wants to pway wit the big kids now? Well, I guess we need to teach wittle Potty here how they enjoy their time. Crucio!' It felt like hundreds of needles shoving themselves into his skin over and over, boiled and burned into his muscles as he screamed out, turning into a roar as something boiled in his veins. An inhuman energy rushed into him, as just for a second, fear flashed into Lestranges cold eyes.
He rose as power overcame pain, And he launched a blasting curse at the insane woman. It missed, and instead destroyed part of his ring. She looked back, uneasiness sketched onto her features, but she continued the spell as he collapsed once more, exhausted.
He wasn't ready.
How could he defeat Voldemort if he was this weak, and didn't even manage to scratch a Death eater, someone so weak they followed the man as a god? No, it was like Snape had always said. All he had on his side was raw power, and while that might get him by low-level death eaters, he needed skill and experience to be able to stop Voldemort and his inner circle. For now, he was nothing but an insignificant Gnat the Old Man would wipe off his shoe, but came lucky every time.
Not to say the man wasn't dead focused on killing him, but he had been lucky every time he got away. And now it was coming back to bite him on the arse as he writhed and shivered. Blood seeped from his mouth as his last baby tooth, the most stubborn one that Madam Pomfrey had said would fall out soon, broke off and left his mouth.
The Mad Woman ended the curse and readied herself for another spell, thus frightening him. His fear grew far more when she launched it upwards and a whip of fire came from the tip. Cackling, she brought it down on his back three times, all in the same place as she tore his back into pieces, muscle sizzling as he screamed, carving into his bone. Tears and bloody spittle fell to the ground as he shouted in pain and anger, while the concentrated fire landed on his spine.
One of them called for Bellatrix as they spoke, until she finally grumbled out an angry murmur and shot a spell into the sky, grabbing a rope at her waist and portkeyed away, as he fell asleep under the night sky, crying in pain, tasting copper and shivering from the after-effects of the curse, blood slowly oozing into the ground. Only one thing filled his mind as he drifted off into an uncomfortable rest.
Revenge.
R&R Plz!